"falsifications" poems
The black shawl-like quality
Of the nothingness
Wraps itself around everything.
A constant emptiness
That makes all full.
Its veins run blue
And gold and scarlet
And every hue between,
It dies as it arises.
The nothingness embraces all,
Easily, it encases me.
In everything and anything.
And that which I lack
I supplement with hope.
A chain mail lie linked
With fragile expectations
Of love and other drugs,
Other falsifications.
This tapestry holds whispers,
Secrets and blueprints
To all of creation.
Globes of dying light
That crash in the dark.
But alas I can see
Its stars are not cross'd
For me [cue tears],
I fear my script is lost.
Perhaps when the dopamine
Corrodes and rots my brain,
My soul will take the reins.
Connected to the cosmos
It tells me everything,
But yea, it shows me nothing
Except tantalising flashes
Of what could be,
In its swirls of red and azure.
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 7:17 PM UTC
. people are always left curious about the stories of homeless people... within the regards of why they became homeless... you want to hear my story? i sat down with one homeless person... you know what he told me? you want to know? he said: MY MOTHER TOLD ME TO NEVER TELL A LIE... wow... wow... so it became my ambition to never tell a lie... i became homeless because my mother advised me to never tell a lie... guess telling lies pays off... whatever it pays with or for... i became homeless because my mother told me to never tell lie! wow! so much for poetry being written while sober... what is expected? unruly truths, falsifications, this that and the other... hell... i'm a drunk... chances of me involved in a relationship are the basic focus of: SLIM... but? HEDNINGARNA - VARGTIMMEN... Finnish folk music.
***** does my head in,
minus the thought-and-question:
do i have a head?
dunno....
whenever the moon rises...
i get a tease of the giggles...
ha ha...
and my face contorts into
a posit of one if those faces from
an apex twin video...
funny as any royal ****
turned into ****
flushed..
now i want you to remember:
never meddle with a madman...
he's been prescribed his
medication,
he's been diagnosed...
come near me and a cancer
sufferer...
dox me!
dox me!
dox me!
i, dare, you!
but i know the person,
or rather, the type...
i won't be doxed,
because what i'm proposing
will not be matched
in execution....
****** parodies
of testicular cancer!
that quote for Albert from
the dark knight:
i am....
some people just like to watch
the world, burn...
i am...
dies, ich bin:
this, i am!
at least i have more constancy to
make comparison of
the Hebrew gott...
ich bin das ich bin...
my alternative?
dies, ich bin!
now...
i am: now!
and when i drink and turn
into a *******
it's to salvage some fathom
or what remains to be
justified as:
resolve.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
A long while has passed since I poured my heart into a work
The last few songs have consisted of stories, wishes, falsifications.
Substance is vital to fuel passion.
Excuse me while I search for it.
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 3:48 PM UTC
Herein lies the cycle of this existence. Replete with everyday banalities - placid and meaningless - the menials of survival give away almost suddenly, and I find myself plunged into the depths of an unperturbed silence... where a voice within resounds the Om. A rage drives me to divest all falsifications.. those sensuous pleasures and miserable burdens, insecurities and frustrations.. and all that exists/acts in a true sense of transience. I feel calm again - cleansed and breathless on the shores of this Reality. But alas!, the Silence fades.. slowly and steadily the noises of the world begin to seep in, like the first rays of sunshine after a long wintrous slumber.
Crests and troughs, this life of mine. A reckless indifference grips my heart; I exist, unbeknown of whether I am a benign Observer or the perverse Experiment, or evenly both.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
It's the best place to cry.
It's the place where it all surrounds you,
Covering you, engulfing you, drowning you.
It falls over you like every pound of weight placed on your shoulders,
It falls and runs over your barren, exposed, vulnerable body,
And when it hits the floor -- its gone, washed down the drain,
But it's replaced by another, and another, and another,
Never ceasing, never pausing, never calming.
It beats at your back, your face, you chest,
Until your skin in red, sore, raw.
It's the place where you don't feel tears,
It's impossible to tell if they're yours, or the water falling on you.
It's the best place to cry,
The shower.
It's a good place to cry,
It's a mask that protects you,
Covering you, surrounding you, isolating you,
It hides every acid drop that rips away at your eyes and cheeks,
It conceals you from others, banishes their comfort,
It makes you alone, weak, vulnerable
They can't see you, they won't know these feelings, they don't care.
They can't see through their ignorance, so I've used it to protect myself.
It's a mask that leaves everyone none the wiser,
All you have to do is wipe the stray tears away.
It's a good place to cry,
Sunglasses.
It's an unexpected place to cry.
It's a scary place, because everyone can see you.
And the scary part is, they do nothing but watch.
The ignorance of the mask is taken away, replaced with clarity.
They can see tears, but they will choose not to acknowledge them.
Light reflects from it, hiding some features, but the picture is still there,
Staring them in the face.
They can see the redness, watch the tears as they gather and charge your dry cheeks.
They watch, but pretend they didn't see anything because they have chosen
not
to
deal
with
it.
It's an unexpected place to cry,
Glasses.
I'm sorry.
I shall take my pain somewhere else,
Take my suffering to the farthest depths of my heart,
in hopes it will not destroy my soul.
I will feed your ignorance,
your picture of a blemishless world,
And pretend I'm a perfect person, in your perfect world.
I will suppress each tear, choke down each sob, and straggle each tremor,
I'm exhausted, but I must keep running
Running away from your misguided decisions, your accusations, your falsifications.
They are like hot iron, branded into my skin like livestock.
So,
I'm sorry,
I will destroy myself to spare your ignorance.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
Cold chills
Shed through
The sick move
In most nonchalant of ways
Time here seems to hold itself
In most futile sickest of bays
How beautiful
Are the smiling faces
When they shalt appear
Some move faraway
Some destitute
To stay here
What dont they tell thou
When thou arriveth
To this castlenest boutique?
That worries wilt go far
What awaits thou
Are the pukenend sheets!!!
Disillusion thy own party goers
Thy touch
Hast been lost to moonshine elliptical
And thy stones of divers toss!!!
Shruggers are raider like
Craters are from no advice
Wherein viking critics
Are systematically nice!!!!
Entertaining wilers
Are subject to falsifications own Warden!!!
All receipted
All burden
To clear away
The memories
Thou once forgot!!!
Now remember
Remember all those difficult ways
Thou once knew!!!
Burdenful crimegivers,
Thou masked conviction
And shrew!!!!
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
My honesty is never understood...But everybody loves my lies!!
I wanna be completely open...but my past may not rest well..may not die easy..I mean..I may not past the test...if you knew the ones before I cheated..did you know I'm in love...With multiple people...But I know right then you'll say then you don't know what love is!!! But I am love...the purest definition...in my dictionary...But I'll never fit into yours...beside Prince Charming...If you knew I was 25 when I woke up a 17 year old sleeping beauty...My demons cloud my perfection...I a man baby couldn't you tell...I thing with my head...I love to hear you yell...Why are you surprised..but again I'll could never tell you that's my intentions..you rather hear my falsifications...and fall head over heals in to this fantasy...that won't end happy because you never fell in love..with what you asked for...My Honesty..
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
My Pen nonchalantly flows its ink,
Over the empty lines; thirsty.
Thirsty for epigrammatic language.
The spoken line’s elisions and falsifications,
Predispose propensities,
And mutate the prevailing attitude,
Towards us, our future,
Not others or theirs.
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC
Cold chills shred through,
The sick move in the most nonchalant ways!!!
Time here seems to hold itself in the most sick of bays....
How beautiful art the smiling faces when they appear,
Some move farthest away,
Some destitute while here!!!
What dont they telleth you,
When thou arriveth at thine castlenest boutique?
That worries shall go far?
What awaits are thine pokered sheets!!!!
Disillution thine own party goers,
Thy touch hath been lost to moonshine elypticals,
And thine stone of diver toss!!!
Shruggers are raiders alike,
Craters are far from no device where vikinged critics are systecly nice!!!
Entertaining wilers subject to falsifications own warden,
All receipted,
All burdened to clear away to memories you whence forgot!!!!
Now remember,
Remember all thy difficult ways you whence knew!!!
Thy albatross masked conviction and shrew!!!!!
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
I will not say sorry anymore
Not this time, not I
Nor shall I become the first to say goodbye
I will not admit to falsifications you have found within
A layer of your own ego, an insecure whim
Those words cannot pierce me
I wore impenetrable armor today
Slayed a dragon to my feet,
Took no time to delay
Which brings me forth declaring
To your dismay,
I am no longer sorry
Not yesterday, or today
There is someone I was in debt to though
Nonetheless to her, I couldn't let these apologies show
Or at least climb to the surface,
A peering hole
Two eyes, one heart
A mirrored reflection glows
A smile forms suddenly
Did he ever know?
The person it took years to see
Is now staring, wholeheartedly back at me
This time, I shall not say sorry to her either
A broken grin sheds a freeing compulsion
For an ultimate forgiveness, a feeling of stealth
All the while, you, my friend, should apologize to yourself.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 1:21 PM UTC
Anxiety straps his body binding his muscles and locking his joints. Stress is visible on his torn bleeding fingers. Fear crippling his mind showing him the images of the world, ones that look like they're straight out of a Tim Burton movie. Dark demented but true. Oh so true. So true that everyone else has gone blind saying that everything is fine. But it's not. He's not fine. Oh no he may put on a smile and hide the pain in his eyes but it's there. You just have to look deep enough. Reality is so distressed we make up fantasies and call them reality. We ban all the things that will allow you to see the real world. We brain wash the children to believing that they deserve everything on a silver plater. "Reality" is not even real, just a fragment of our fevered imaginations. So when anxiety immobilizes your body, seizing your muscles and tightening them till they're strung taught. When it locks your joints not allowing you to move. When stress makes you mutilate your body by ripping the fleshy linings on your fingers pouring blood. When fear fills your mind giving you chills those little goose bumps and that shiver that runs down you spine when you know something is just not right. No not right at all because you can't handle the images of Reality and when you try to process them and tell others what you see they put you in a mental hospital. "For your own good" they said. They call you ****** crazy, mentally unstable. So you zip your mouth shut and let them think your ok. You let them believe that their child is not broken that they can still "save" you. You let them listen to these falsifications so you can go home and be "normal". So much so you start believing the lies again and forget the harsh Reality.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC